


Far, Far Away

by darkangel0410



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton, Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Fast and the Furious Series, Lost Boys (1987), My Chemical Romance, Sherlock (TV), Star Trek RPF, Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Crossover, Drabble, Gen, M/M, Meme, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkangel0410/pseuds/darkangel0410
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a bunch of drabbles from a AU meme on my lj; you can request something here, if you want:<br/>http://darkangel-0410.livejournal.com/184987.html</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: FOB/Supernatural.

By the fourth time the angels came to him for help saving the world, Pete was fed up with the whole thing.  
  
It was bad enough when they tried to convince him that Patrick - _Patrick_ for fuck's sake- was the Anti-Christ and was going to bring about the fucken Apocalypse; Pete had told them in no uncertain terms that if they touched one hair on Patrick's head, he would kill their vessels and then spend the rest of his life making it his job to hunt them down and then making sure they ended up in Hell where they belonged.  
  
Zachariah had backed off after that and had turned up a few months later to admit, rather sheepishly, that it turned out some dude named Winchester was actually the one they were looking for. He had been all smiles and apologies, as if that would make Pete forget that they almost murdered his best friend by accident.   
  
And that time they tried to make him believe that Andy was really some demon named Alistair who got his rocks off torturing people. Andy, who was a fucken vegan because he got teary eyed thinking about how badly farmers treated their animals. After that one, Pete had started to ask himself what the hell they were smoking up in Heaven to believe the shit they were telling him.  
  
And, really, that angel with the trench coat that followed them around for weeks and kept proclaiming that Joe's hair was possessed and could kill them if they weren't careful -he had to have been suffering from major head trauma or something. Pete had never been so happy to see the back of somebody as he had been when Castiel had finally left.  
  
As if all that shit wasn't bad enough, they showed up on a Sunday, at ass o'clock in the morning, right after he had finally fallen asleep wrapped around Patrick and started telling him -loudly and in a horrified voice that Pete's pretty sure he would have found hilarious under better circumstances- that if he kept sinning this way, he would never go to Heaven and that was it. Pete Wentz had finally had enough.  
  
Now, he just started throwing whatever he had around him at them whenever one of the angels showed up; it took a while, but they seemed to have passed the memo around and stopped showing up. It took them long enough.  
  
Fucken angels.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: ZQMF/CFine set in the shifter 'verse. (The shifter 'verse is something I'm writing for Bandom Big Bang -the only thing you need to know for this is that shapeshifters know their mates by scent.)

Zach knew Chris was his.  
  
He knew it the same way he knew he had brown eyes -with a gut deep certainty that felt like Chris had been there for years.  
  
Zach's wolf tensed up whenever Chris's scent hit him (salt water and snow and _mine_ and trees and  _home_ ); which, since they were currently filming the third Star Trek movie, pretty much meant that Zach felt like his wolf was going to lose it almost every second of everyday.  
  
It wasn't enough that Chris was straight or that everyone and their mother could tell that Zach was in love with him (everyone except for Chris,  _of fucken course_ ). No, apparently, the powers that be decided that Zachary John Quinto needed one more big "fuck you" in his life and made Chris the most affectionate best friend Zach ever had.  
  
He was always hugging Zach, petting his hair, wanting to cuddle with him; he even knew about Zach's wolf -the result of too much tequila and a drunken confession- and it didn't phase Chris at all. It sure as hell didn't stop him from getting handsy with Zach.  
  
Zach hated it almost as much as he loved it; it showed him, over and over again, what being with Chris would be like if only things were different.  
  
As much as Zach's wolf reveled in it, Zach's human side was fast reaching the breaking point.  
  
After almost eight years, Zach didn't know how much more he could take.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Waycest set in Anita Blake. Now with bonus Pete/Patrick!

There was no doubt in any one's mind that the Way brothers were two of the most popular dancers at  _Danse Macabre_.

Every day Patrick, the manager, got requests for private "shows" at the customers house for them, both for their single stage shows and the one they did together once a month. Patrick always turned them down politely but firmly; Patrick might see the business sense in starting to offer those, uh, services, and Jean-Claude might even agree with him, but he knew there was no way in Hell Anita would and Patrick wasn't dumb enough to have The Executioner pissed off at him. He liked waking up at sunset, thank you very much.

The Ways were so popular, in fact, that they had their own fan club -something only Pete had managed. And being part Fae and part Incubus gave Pete such an unfair advantage that most of the employees didn't even count him when they were gossiping about who had the most regulars or got laid the most -although, Pete always pointed out, with a grin, that he automatically lost that one since the only person he was fucking right now was Patrick. Every time he overheard Pete say that or something similar, Patrick thanked the darkness that he couldn't blush any more.

There was something about Mikey and Gerard that just drew people, made men and women lay down money to watch them strip. They said they were completely human, but it wouldn't have surprised anyone if they found out they had some siren or something else hidden in their ancestry. Gerard had even been known to pull a smile from Richard when he was being pissy, which was no small feat.

All in all, when someone was as good for business as those two were, no one really cared who they were fucking.

Even if it  _was_ their own brother.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Pete/Patrick and Lost Boys.

The first time Pete saw Patrick on the boardwalk, Pete wanted to drag him into the closest dark corner and either fuck him senseless or drink him dry. It was a close call.  
  
When Pete found out that Patrick and his brother, Kevin, were the kids of the women Andy was trying to woo, he didn't know if he was happy or not that his orders were to seduce her sons.  
  
Pete passed Kevin off to Mikey -there was little Mikey loved as much as seducing a straight guy and then Turning him- and then followed Patrick around for a few hours until he went into a CD store that sold vinyls.   
  
After another few seconds, Pete went inside and wandered over to where Patrick was flipping through the old crates filled with records.  
  
"Sorry," Pete said, smiling when he bumped into Patrick. "My bad."  
  
"It's cool," Patrick murmured, looking Pete over quickly and then looking away.  
  
"Dude, is that Bowie?"  
  
Pete watched Patrick's face light up as he started talking and decided, then and there, that whatever happened between Andy and that woman, he was keeping Patrick. Forever.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Sterek set in the Anita Blake 'verse (I would love to see Jean-Claude interested in them!)

Stiles knew who she was; Beacon Hills might be states away from St. Louis but part of Stiles's job was to keep track of who was who on the list of Things That Could Kill Us All (And Do It Easily) and The Executioner was second only to Death. 

(And quite better looking, too, in Stiles opinion; he might be dating the Alpha of the Beacon Hills pack, but that didn't mean he was _blind_ for fuck's sake.)

In all honesty, Stiles was surprised that a marshall hadn't shown up during the clusterfuck of last fall; they managed to kill off Peter, sure, but there had been a lot of collateral damage. It had been months before any of them had been able to breathe easy again.

Once things settled down, Stiles wondered why there hadn't been someone sent to investigate, but there had been so much other shit to figure out, that Stiles hadn't been able to look into.

But staring at the person in front of him, Stiles thought that maybe he should have made the time.

"Marshal Blake," Stiles said, his tone bland. He mentally counted what weapons he had on him -only one gun and three blades, but that was standard for everyday- and that managed to make him feel a little better. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Anita looked him over a minute before relaxing her stance a little. "Just Anita or Ms. Blake would be fine -I'm not here in a federal capacity."

"Then this has to do with vampire business,"Stiles mused, nodding when she looked slightly uncomfortable, but didn't deny it.

Behind them there was a burst of gunfire; the shooting range was always busy on Saturdays. Neither one of them jumped at the sound; Stiles supposed they were both too use to the sound for it to startle them any more.

"Excuse me, Anita, but the news that St. Louis's Master of the city is interested in me, doesn't make me feel any better."

"I don't blame you," Anita told him, her eyes glancing around constantly. "But as it happens, it's not just you that he's interested in."

"The pack," Stiles said softly, cursing when Anita nodded. 

"There have been rumors that one of your pack is immune to lycanthorpy," she went on.

"Rumor has it you are, too," Stiles said, smirking a little. He wasn't going to celebrate yet, but if that was all this was about, he thought they could handle it.

"Yes," Anita agreed easily; Stiles wasn't surprised -that much was public knowledge and agreeing to it gave nothing away.

"And assuming that this one is true as well, that's only two people out of who knows how many that are actually immune to lycanthorpy- you can understand why Jean-Claude would be interested in seeing if it was true."

Stiles looked at her thoughtfully for a minute or two before nodding.

"Alright. I can't confirm or deny anything, but I can bring you to someone who can.

"Let me call to let them know we're coming and then we'll head to the Pack's main house.

"We'll hafta take my Jeep," Stiles added, looking over Anita's rented car. "Once we get off the highway, the road's too rough for that car -it'll wreck the suspension."

"Alright," Anita agreed after a long minute. "But if anything happens to me, you won't like what would come after you."

Stiles laughed, making Anita look at him suspiciously. "Do I look dumb enough to think it would be a good idea to have not only you but one of the most powerful Master vampires out for my blood? Not to mention all the weres you're connected to.

"And even if I was that suicidal, I would never put the people I love in danger like that, not on purpose," he finished, his voice serious.

Anita held his eyes for a minute before she spoke. "As long as we understand each other."

Stiles nodded and walked a few feet away and pulled out his cell phone. He could feel Anita's eyes on him and was really happy that he wasn't actually guilty of anything.

Now, if the rest of her visit went as smoothly as it started.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets John for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in my Shapeshifter 'verse and the first time I've ever written Sherlock, so apologies if it's OOC. Also, anyone who might read this: I'm American, so please forgive any slang or things I fuck up; also also, written on my phone so I apologize for any misspellings, etc., too.

Sherlock was sitting at a table in the lab at St. Bart's when he heard Stamford (human, smelled like sweat and anxiety,  _boring_ ) and a set of footsteps that he didn't recognize seconds before he felt that annoying itch just under his skin that meant that there was another shapeshifter near him.

 

He straightened and inhaled slightly -it was  _cheating_  to use his senses like that and a mark of stupidity; even the neighborhood dogs could find a dead body by using their noses- but the presence of a strange shapeshifter meant he would alter his own rules for the moment, if only slightly.

 

Snow (but not ice, not like he and Mycroft and Mum did) and cold air, the musty smell of fur, and some strange scent that his brain kept insisting meant  _home_  and  _want_  but which Sherlock knew was impossible.

 

Unless.

 

Sherlock focused on the computer screen, his body tensed as if for a fight; there was no way that his mate had just wandered in with bloody Mike Stamford of all people. The statistical likelihood of finding your mate was astronomical- and that was assuming one believed in mates in the first place, which Sherlock  _did not_.

 

When they entered the room, he looked up he met the other man's startled eyes and Sherlock knew he had just met his mate.

 

Mycroft would never let him forget this.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is kind of an AU in that they have a pup, and it's Stile's and Derek's but I have no idea how they got said pup. Surrogate, maybe? Freaky ass magic? Whatever, they have a pup, and the pack is together and everyone is ridiculously happy because I am fucken tired of crying every episode and Derek deserves happiness, do you hear me Jeff Davis, you sadistic bastard?

Stiles sat on the front porch, drinking coffee as he watched his mate race around the yard with their pup.  
  
Seth was only two and had woken up last week tangled in his Iron Man pajamas, howling mournfully until his parents had crashed into his room, the rest of the pack half a step behind them.  
  
Two weeks later and Seth was only barely managing to control his shifts; he had scared the shit out of his grandfather yesterday. The Sheriff might know all about the Beacon Hills pack now, might even have accepted the fact that not only was Stiles mated to the Alpha, but that he himself was an honorary member of the pack; that did not mean that he was prepared for his grandson to go from being an adorable toddler to a yipping -but still equally adorable- wolf pup in less than a minute.  
  
Derek had reassured Stiles that born werewolves usually started shifting young, around four or five and that it could take them as long as a year to be able to control it with confidence; that was why Derek and his sisters, as well as their cousins, were all home-schooled until they seven or so.  
  
Seth had shifted a couple years ahead of schedule but he was otherwise acting like any other werewolf pup would.  
  
Stiles sipped his coffee and watched the two most important people in his life play; content with the knowledge that soon the rest of the pack would drift outside and eventually there would an entire yard full of wolves running around, acting like they were as young as Seth was.  
  
Stiles grinned as Seth pounced on his father's tail, growling playfully.   
  
Yeah, he loved his life.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peterick crossover with Fast and the Furious series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not familiar with the series, the only things you need to know is that Pete is a mechanic who street races on the side (among other things, but that's besides the point and not relevant right now) and Patrick is an uncover cop who's trying to bust Pete's illegal activities. Pete is still Pete Wentz and Patrick's undercover name is Patrick Vaughn.
> 
> Patrick ends up on Pete's street team and they're in Pete's garage at this point, alone while the rest of the team is fucking off somewhere.

Patrick rested his head against the Charger's frame for a second; it was hot as fuck inside Wentz's garage and that's before factoring in the heat wave that was currently making Southern California it's bitch.

 

He glanced over to where Pete had stripped down to just his shorts and looked away again when he felt that slow fissure of desire skate down his spine. The tattoos decorating Pete's arms were enough to distract Patrick by themselves, but when you added in the snarky attitude, crazy intelligence (emphasis on the  _crazy_ ) and unexpected sweetness that showed itself in the way he talked to his sister and the unswerving loyalty to his family and friends, Patrick knew he was going to be in a lot of trouble before the assignment was over.

 

Patrick squeezed his eyes closed and took a brief second to curse Way to fucken hell for putting him in this position, for dangling a detective badge in front of him like some God damn lure. And then cursed himself because he knew no matter what the fuck happened, what decision he made, Patrick was going to end up hating himself.

 

"You like what you see, Vaughn?"

 

Patrick jumped a little and turned around to see a smug grin on the other man's face.

 

"I've seen better," Patrick told him as he rested against the car behind him and casually glanced around the half-finished cars that littered the garage.

 

Pete's grin sharpened as he slowly crept closer to Patrick, effectively boxing him in. "Not what I meant and you know it.

 

"Or do you think I don't know when I'm getting eye-fucked in my own garage?"

 

Patrick inhaled sharply and then shoved Pete hard enough to send him stumbling back a few feet.

 

"Fuck you, Wentz," Patrick snarled, taking his anger about his boss, himself,  _everything_  out on the man in front of him. "Who I screw is none of your damn business and it sure as fuck doesn't effect how good I am with a motor.

 

"I don't fucken care if this some fucken joke or, or game or hazing- "

 

"Joke?" Pete growled as he surged forward and pushed Patrick back until his knees hit the Charger and he couldn't go any where else. "Does this feel like a fucken joke to you?"

 

He grabbed Patrick's hand and pressed it against his crotch; Patrick gaped at him, his fingers tightening reflexively against the hardness he felt there. "That's from watching you work up a sweat fixing that fucken engine and it didn't go down the entire time you were screaming at me like a fucken jackass.

 

"So, you tell me,  _Patrick_ \- am I playing a fucken game here?"

 

The last words were panted out practically against Patrick's lips and Patrick swallowed audibly before he closed the distance between them and attacked Pete's mouth with his.

 

"Oh, thank fuck," Pete muttered as he licked his way inside Patrick's mouth; he pulled back with a moan and bit Patrick's bottom lip when Patrick moved his hands to Pete's hips and pulled him closer until he could feel Pete's erection pressed against his own.

 

"Been eye-fucking me all fucken week," Pete managed to get out between kisses as he rocked against Patrick. He nuzzled Patrick's neck before he started biting at it, enjoying the little noises Patrick was letting out. "What the fuck am I suppose to do, ignore it, no way in hell -"

 

Pete got the front of Patrick's pants open and made enough room between them so he could work his hand down until he could wrap his fingers around Patrick's dick.

 

As Patrick dropped his forehead against Pete's shoulder he had a brief thought that he was even more fucked than he had assumed before the feel of calluses running over the head of his dick forced every other thought out of his head.


End file.
